


The Spider's Web

by didsomeonesaybioshock



Series: A Collection of SPN Reader Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Angst, Blood, Character Death, F/M, Film Noir, Guns, Non-Explicit Sex, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didsomeonesaybioshock/pseuds/didsomeonesaybioshock
Summary: Detective Cas Novak knows he’s one the best. He’s quick. Clever. Good with his words and plays well with guns. But when upper-class suits start dropping in Chicago beneath the barrel of a mysterious hired gun, Cas finds himself in something bigger than drug dealers and bank robbers. Are his wits and ego enough to bring down the killer?





	The Spider's Web

            There were a few known facts about the Black Widow case. Worked for a price. Only moved at night.

            And there were ten bloody bodies on his hands.

            He had all of Chicago PD on their toes. The town on edge. Heads on the swivel. Mothers changing curfew from sundown to noon. Chicago was already something fierce. A bombshell blonde with looks to kill and the means to do it. But with Red Belly on the rise, no one was safe. They’d run the well dry. It was time to call in the cavalry.

            Cas Novak knew he was one of the best. When your stomping grounds was nothing but hop-heads and grifter’s prowling the Bronx district, you had to be. He could sniff a deal gone bad from a mile away. Dicks that didn’t have the touch had a bad habit of winding up face down in a ditch with lead poisoning. Lucky for him, he knew the tricks of the trade.

            The Chicago precinct was heavy. Dense, even. One step through the door and he had half a mind to check his coat pockets for dead weight. Desks were strewn around. Papers like carpet on the tile floor. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the place was ransacked. With the way one of the cops looked at him he might as well have been the robber.

            “Detective Novak?”

            “That’s what’s carved in my tin.”

            “Boss is waiting for you in his office.” He had more bags under his eyes than a housewife at the supermarket. His fingers drummed nonsense rhythms against his desk. “Office behind the wood door in the back. Can’t miss it.”

            “Much obliged.” Cas tipped his hat. He may as well have been see-through.

            Captain Smalls was anything but. Half the room was lit from the bulb reflecting from his head. Cas wasn’t even sure he’d heard him come in. A gasper dangled from his lips like he’d forgotten it was there.

            “You who they sent from the Bronx?” He didn’t even chance a glance in his direction. The file in front of him had earned every second of his time.

            “Cas Novak.” He set his briefcase in an empty chair and leaned over the back. “Glad to be of service.”

            “I’ll be more grateful when you pinch this bastard.” He handed him a file. It was meaty. “I’ve got a room full of chumps and a city scared shitless to leave their homes. No one’s getting home to their wives until I’ve got the up on this dropper.”

            “Good thing I live alone.”

            Smalls looked at him for the first time. Sized him up with a pair of eyes that were sunk to the back of his head. “They tell you anything over in New York?”

            “A bit. Ten guys layin’ stiff in Chicago overcoats and a couple of by-standers.”

            “You’ve heard it all.” He sighed. “That file there’s got the wire on the vics. Hardly a damn thing on the perp.”

            “The witnesses have anything to say?”

            “Same story, different street. Red gloves. Black duds. A one-slug-and-done kinda guy.”

            “Anything on the slugs?”

            “10mm. Pistol’s a popular toy under these streetlights.”

            “Likes to play it quiet.” Cas flipped through the stills. All wide-eyed and pale white. Didn’t even know what was coming. Poor saps. “What’s the connection between them?”

            “All upper-stands type of fellas. Big pockets and plenty to show for it.” He took a long drag from his butt and let the smoke drift out nice and slow. “We gotta hit it hard if we wanna find him ‘fore his next drop. I’ve got you working with Hartley on this. He’s been handling intel on the Black Widow for months, now.”

            “I can handle my own.” Cas shut the file and grabbed his suitcase. “But I’ll play ball if you’re pitchin’.”

            “Your head dick mentioned you might say that.” Smalls snuffed out his butt in the ash tray. There was hardly any room left. “This ain’t another episode of Big Town, son. You’re hittin’ the major league over here. Trigger men don’t play a fool in these parts. You go in this alone, you’ll end up getting burned.”

            “I’ll remember that when I’m toastin’ mellows over this goon’s gourd.” He didn’t let the door hit him on the way out.

             Cas Novak was a lot of things. Hard-boiled. Persistent. More apt to reach for his holster before opening his mouth. But if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a rookie. He was a damn good detective. The best.

            And he’d do anything to prove it.

 

~~

 

            Snow was a good look over the Chicago city scape. Really made her curves and edges stand out underneath the early-December moon. He was making his usual walk back to his motel from the precinct. Nobody around but him and his shadow. Not a single porch light flickered along the street. Every window sealed up tight with a set of shutters. He’d been here two god damn weeks with not a damn thing to show for it. Nothing but a full ash tray and a worn case file. The gloss finish on the stills had impressions from his thumbprint.

            Cas had to hand it to him: the Black Widow was one slick son of a bitch. Had no enemies ‘cause all of them were dead. Slipped through the cracks like a shot of scotch on the rocks. Smooth. Graceful. Made quick and clean work of his victims. Most grifter’s back in the Apple hid in plain sight. Ran gambling rings under the laundromat. More aliases than a theatre troop. But the Black Widow… he’d spun his web in the shadows. Strung it deep in hard to reach places. The only way to cuff this bastard was to find him, first.

            He walked past the same corner pub every night on his way back. The neon ‘open’ sign was like its own star on the Broadway city walk. If it didn’t have it, Cas would’ve assumed it to be shut up tight. He’d never seen a single drunk walk in or out of the front door. But that neon star wasn’t the only thing lighting up the sky tonight.

            She was all gentle curves and gams for days. That red dress of hers hugged all the right places, tight at the waist and pooled at her kitten heels. Ten pounds of sugar in a five-pound sack, all right. That ‘open’ sign was like a halo over her Y/H/C locks of love. Red stained lips wrapped around her cigarette like it was an old friend as she eyed him under her lashes.

            “You’re the first soul I’ve seen since the dinner bell.” The woman smiled behind a cloud of smoke. He slowed his roll but didn’t stop. “Must be something important to be braving these streets at this time of night.”

            “Just passing through.” He stepped under the overhang. “I’ve got a room over on Walton.”

            “Knickers?”

            “That’s the one.”

            She said nothing. Put every ounce of effort into another long, slow drag. She left a red stain on the butt when she pulled it away. “You ever been inside? A lot warmer than it is out here.”

            “Not much of the drinking type.”

            “Shame. My songs sound a bit smoother when it’s paired with a shot of bourbon.”

            “You the songbird around here?”

            “One of my many hobbies.”

            “I bet you’ve got all sorts of talents you ain’t sharin’.”

            He got a smile for that one. Her head tapped the glass behind her as a small chuckle shook her chest. “Well, Mr.- “

            “-Novak. Cas Novak.”

            “Mr. Novak.” She took one last puff before crushing the light under the toe of her shoe. “Ronnie’ll have my pretty little head if I’m late from break again.” She pushed off from the window and flipped that mane of hers over her shoulder. She paused a moment before heading inside. “You sure you can’t stop in for a few songs? A little birdy told me the next set won’t disappoint.”

            Cas chuckled. “Maybe tomorrow. Can’t remember the last time I slept a full four hours.”

            “Alright.” She gave him a good up-and-down before the door hinges started screaming. Her red skirt blew from the bar draft and let the ankle bit of her stocking peak out from underneath. Lord only knew where that deep seam along her calf lead to.

            “Wait, doll.” She stopped between the threshold. “I never caught your name.”

            Her smile was good enough to kill. “Y/N.” She slipped in a bit further. “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Novak.”

            And she did. He found his way back the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until he was following his own footprints left in the snow along that city sidewalk. Until that shade of crimson red was his favorite color. Y/N was anything but ordinary in that red gown.

            But Cas preferred it on his motel floor.

 

~~  


            “Novak.” His head snapped up from his desk, lost between the lines of an eye witness log. He spared a glance at the desk next to him. Hartley was snoring into his hand. Smalls waved him over with those sausages sewed to his wrist. A cigarette burned between two of them. The brute probably had Pall Mall’s brand pressed into the skin.

            “You found some kind of lead?” Cas asked the moment his door clicked shut. Smalls was wagging his finger like he was scolding his brat.

            “Even better.” He jabbed a sausage into a piece of paper on his desk. He let his gasper sit between his barely-there lips. “I know the Widow’s next move.”

            “How in God’s name you figure that? We don’t even know what tone of hair he’s got.”

            “Anonymous tip called in. Someone snitched.” Cas picked up the paper and made out the writing. ‘Masquerade Ball, Arlen Glass.’ “Black Widow’s plannin’ a drop at the New Year’s ball.”

            “Arlen Glass’ gig? The goose that plays high pillow of Glass Factories?”

            Smalls hummed a toneless note. His smug grin showed no bounds.

            “Guess he’s high-stakes enough.” In the last three years alone, Glass Factories had staked claims nationwide in nearly every worth-knowing city on the map. Mostly centered around kids toys. Train sets. Tea sets and the dolls to go with it. You name it, he’s made it. The chap probably had a home between every ocean but mostly operated out of Chicago. Money wasn’t an issue. And he wasn’t afraid to make it known. This New Year’s Masquerade ball was his latest attempt to spread his sugar. Only problem was, you needed a golden ticket to get in. And Cas didn’t have many friends around here. “Don’t suppose you’re up close and personal with Glass Factory himself.”

            “You let me handle that.” Smalls breathed in that smoke like it was a lifeline. “You and Hartley worry about gettin’ your suit’s tailored. Ball’s in three days and you’re both goin’ in.”

            Small’s request played through his head like a mantra the rest of the day. This was his big break. The case of all cases. Black Widow was the most notorious hired gun on this side of the states. He cuffed this guy, he could cuff any prick that looked twice in his direction. Smalls was right: this was the big leagues. And Cas was pining to be MVP.

            “Something’s got you bugged.” The hotel bedroom was thick with smoke from the stove and the bit of Y/N’s Lucky Strike between her fingers. She twirled those same fingers in meaningless patterns across his bare chest. “You’re different tonight.”

            “How do ya figure?” He stole her cigarette and took a drag.

            “Your body’s here with me but your brain’s halfway to Mars.”

            “Noodle’s probably pretty jealous right now.”

            She untucked her head from his shoulder and gave him that half-lidded stare. She could give a man a heart attack with those Y/E/C eyes. They held something fierce. Something bold. Like she could read the ribbons of his DNA with a mere flick of her gaze. “You gonna waltz around the issue all night or are you gonna cut to the two step?”

            “I’ve never been much of a dancer.”

            “Then open those talented lips of yours and start singing.”

            Cas sighed. He hadn’t told Y/N much about the case. She knew he was a cop, sure. He made damn certain she knew that. But he’d kept the details brief about the Black Widow case. Hardly scratched the surface. Cas had seen what happened to dames that knew too much about their copper’s line of work. They always drowned. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

            “Care to elaborate?” 

            She turned under his arm and propped herself up on an elbow, letting her head rest in her palm as she waited oh-so-patiently. Her eyes said something different.

“With this case…” He began.

            “The Black Widow.” She said. He reached for her cigarette again. “Go on.”

            “Smalls thinks he’s got something. Something big. Something that could land this goon behind bars and land me at the top.” The nicotine went smooth through his lungs. Like silk. “It just all seems too good to be true. Too many questions, not enough answers.” 

            “You think it’s a set-up?”

            “I don’t know what I think.” Cas stared out the open window. It’d been snowing all week, non-stop sleet tearing through the city, but tonight a few stars had started peeking through the thick blankets overhead. He hated winter. Made him feel slower than molasses when he was strolling on foot. He’d make it to California one day. “Don’t matter in the end. Whatever his angle I’m takin’ him down. Either him or me. And I’ll be damned if I don’t go down as one of the best.”

            “There you go saying that again. ‘One of the best.’” She got one more puff from that gasper before shoving it into the ash tray on the end table. “You’re always on about that. There a reason or you just the power-hungry type?”

            Cas was good. Hated by few. Loved by most. Feared by all. He fought tooth and nail and had a silver tongue when he needed it. Detective work was like riding a bike. It only gets easier every time you hop on that seat. But it hadn’t always been that way. No one’s born with God-given knowledge on how to work the pedals. He started out in the rookie league just like everyone else. Only for him, he got a bit more than a shot to the knee or a diamond-eye shiner from his first time in the field.

            They’d killed his girl.

            Abigail. Abigail Brooks. A gorgeous dame paired with hips as sweet as honey. Every head in the Bronx district turned when they heard those red heels clip against the sidewalk. Those same eyes would roll when they peaked at the arm pulling her close. Those three years had felt like ten thousand lifetimes. There were plenty of bombshells strutting along the curb but nothing came close to Abby. He was nothing but a rookie dick in the slums. She was a red-head beauty that made her own way. He never deserved her for a second. And when ol’ Red Summer’s had her offed over on Eighth Street he’d never felt more beat in his entire life. He hadn’t been in the force more than six months and Summers’ had everything yanked from under him. His love. His life. His pride.

            He’d never get caught slipping ever again.

            Cas could tell Y/N. Could tell her the real reason he pins to be the best fucking cop this entire world has ever seen. Lay it all out like cards on a table and show her a royal flush. Might make it all easier for her to understand instead of giving her the run-around. But he didn’t have a good hand tonight. Nothing worth showing to the dealer. “Wouldn’t call me a power-shark.”

            “Then what are you?”

            Her hair was like leaves in the fall. Scattered. No rhyme or reason. He tucked a few pieces behind her ear and smiled when she shivered. “Just a man.”

            When she rolled on top of him it felt like a dream. Like she wasn’t real. Perfectly sculpted, a blush dusting her cheeks like the snow outside. Picasso himself couldn’t come up with a more beautiful sight. She wasn’t doing anything but his body was reacting like a damn machine. “Just a man?” Music to his ears. Like an orchestra of winds and strings molding together in perfect harmony. She let her fingers dance down his chest until the conductor found her bouton. “You’re anything but.”

            She crashed over him like a gentle wave. With purpose. Rhythm. The passion of a thousand women but the touch of a silk ribbon. They came together like two broken pieces of glass. Sharp, jagged, a bit painful but somehow right. She was so warm in his arms. So soft. A beacon in this dark world he’d been living in. He’d been sitting on the edge for so long, but beside her there wasn’t anything to fear from it. When she pushed him from the cliff he fell with a cry but was enveloped by a force so much more than the abyss he’d stared at for so long. He didn’t see Abigail. The Black Widow. His old neighborhood. All of those faces he’d grown up with staring back at him with glazed eyes from a pool of red. There was only Y/N; her fingernails grazing his jaw and the ends of her hair tickling his chest. Words couldn’t do his feelings any sort of justice under those cheap motel sheets.

            So he rolled her under him instead.

~~

 

            Glass’ digs were shut up tighter than Fort Knox.

            Big fists at every door. Packing heat under their overcoats. He’d seen some paranoid big-wigs in his day, but nothing quite like this. If Capone wasn’t serving time on the Rock he’d think the legend himself had stashed himself away inside.

            Cas’d had his doubts. Smalls didn’t seem like the type of man to have any kind of friends, women or men alike. Let alone a card shark like Glass. But that was part of the mystery of Captain Benny Smalls. The man could pull miracles out of a pile of ash. And boy, did those two masquerade invitations glitter like diamonds in the rough. ‘Remember what I says about goin’ alone,’ the egg had said. ‘Don’t make you any braver shootin’ a rifle one-handed.’  

            He’d always preferred a pistol, anyway.

            Nothing but rows of Lincoln’s and Plymouth armor’s blinked back at him when he hit the scene, his suit freshly pressed and his masquerade mask sitting pretty over his nose. Central Park served as his front yard while the mansion yelled a combination of a hundred loud, rich voices. Women dripping with diamonds and gold hung on their wallet’s arms, giggling into their snow white gloves between sips of champagne. It was the kind of party you’d hear about on the Sunday evening radio program; some well-off Wall Street type with the reputation to match. Cas stood on the brick walk leading to the entry and thought about how perfect Y/N would fit in with this crowd. One glimpse of that red gown under these lights and the entire room would hit their knees. But he wouldn’t drag another dame back into the fire. He couldn’t. He’d call her tomorrow, he’d said. Her face had screwed up a bit at first but eventually fell into that sultry smirk that always made him dizzy. She had a few things to take care of, anyway. Yeah, he’d call her tomorrow.

            Every head-honcho on this side of the states was packed in the main ballroom. Diamond heels clicked against the marble floor. Husbands sported a Cuban cigar between rows of gold rings. A sea of black dresses and dark suits. Cas reached up to straighten his own black tie and adjust his jacket. Red gloves should be easy enough to spot at a black and white ball.

            He made his way around the room three times before giving up on the main crowd. Glass wasn’t anywhere to be found. He’d bet his money he was stashing himself on the second floor. Guess Glass thought the Black Widow might have the same idea.

            “You lost?” Two peaks of the Himalayas stepped in front of him, completely blocking the spiral staircase from view. “Party’s down here.”

            “Oh, c’mon fellas, guy’s gotta take a leak.”

            “Bathroom’s on the other end of the ballroom. Can’t miss it.”

            “Some drunk’s locked himself in there for the past twenty minutes. And that champagne you got flowin’ is snakin’ right through me.” He thanked whatever God was up above they couldn’t see through his jacket. A thin line of sweat was finding its way on his skin. It was the middle of July in the Sahara Desert under his mask.

            The mountains looked at each other. A silent language among hired hands. The first one sighed. “You got five minutes.” He nodded at Mount Everest and he started making his way through the crowd. Probably to check on the make-believe drunk in the other bathroom. He would be in a world full of hurt if that brute came back empty handed. He’d have to work fast.

            “Woah, slow your roll there.” A bundle of calluses planted firm against his chest when he tried to pass. “Can’t take any chances these days.”

            Being pat down by a woman in the bedroom was one thing. Getting one from a bodyguard at a big-wigs ball party was something different entirely. It was like getting punched by a boxer on every square inch of your person. At the top of the stairs Cas did a quick once-over on the hall and reached under the waistband of his trousers. His pistol glistened under the chandelier above the stairs.

            “Sorry, Maria,” he tucked it away in his suit jacket pocket. “Only spot those thugs won’t go.”

            He moved quick. Checked every room on the second floor. Not a soul in sight. He had been keeping a mental check of how long he’d been up there but it was starting to get fuzzy. Two minutes? Three minutes? Four? Whatever the case, he had no time. He was a fish out of water. Gasping for air. The clock was ticking and Father Time wasn’t waiting for no one.

            They appeared like God himself had put them there. Two French doors, taking up the entire end of the hallway. The trim was caked with gold flakes, swirling in patterns fit for a King of Persia. One of them was open. His heart pounded just a bit harder under the buttons of his shirt.

            Jackpot.

            Maria trembled in his palm, her butt a bit slick in his grip. He flipped the safety as he nudged open the door, playing cat and mouse with the heel of his dress shoes. Everything in the room was white. White carpet. White bedding. White headboard. White walls. A bright white that made your eyes burn out when you looked a bit too long. For a foolish moment he was convinced he’d died and stepped into heaven. The sharp blow to the back of his head proved otherwise.

            That white room faded to black in a blink.

           

~~

 

            When he came to he was sprawled out like a broken vase on the white carpet with his head pounding in all directions. Speckles of crimson blood were scattered around his head. His own blood. He touched the back of his head and hissed. Pretty nasty spot. Probably from the butt of a gun. A pistol, maybe. As if on cue, said pistol’s safety clicked somewhere behind him.

            “Guess I shouldn’t be expecting that call tomorrow, huh?”

            Every working muscle and fiber inside of Cas shut down at the same time. Like a factory’s inner workings when the generator blows. Like a Chevy when the battery’s cut. He didn’t want to see it with his own two eyes. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was coincidence. He was drugged on the ballroom floor and was having some kind of induced nightmare. But there was nothing coincidental about those thick hips and the red gloves pulled over her fingers.

            Y/N.

            “Should’ve left it alone, Mr. Novak.” Gone was that red dress that caught his eye so many weeks ago. Deep black fabric stretched tight around her curves, following every line of those creamy white pins that felt sinful under his hands. Her painted lips pulled into her killer smirk. “Now look where it’s got ya.”

            Sense had drained from his head a long time ago. A thousand questions ran through his mind. Why did she do it? Had this been the plan all along? Was he always the chump? “Where’s Glass?” He asked instead.

            “He’s taking a little nap in the bathroom before his big entrance.” Her gaze roamed toward the open threshold on the other side of the room to make her point. The bathroom mirror was split down the middle but still did its job. Could barely see half of the bathtub through the pieces. But the red stains on the porcelain white was plain as day. “I’m sure no one will mind.”

            “The guards at the stairs. How did you- “

            “How did I slip on through?” She chuckled. A dark, deep sound. “Let’s just say those lumbering brutes have… invested interests.”

            “They work for you.”

            “Glass was a lot of things. Slimy. Worthless. A cheapskate.” Cas searched the floor for any sign of Maria. Not a trace. “But the one thing he wasn’t was paranoid. Thought the entire world was rooting for him. I’s just here to give him a teeny tiny wakeup call.”

            “And, what, they watch your back while you take ‘em out?”

            “My clients pay top dollar for excellent work. They’re there to make sure I get off without a hitch.”

            “Guess they didn’t count on me showing up.”

            Y/N smiled. Not like she did behind a Lucky Strike wrapped in downy sheets. No, not like that. This was something evil. The type of grin grifter’s would flash when they managed to fix another angle. The same one he’d wiped clean off of Summers’ fat face when he’d put him down for good. “Actually, Mr. Novak, we’ve been expecting you.”

            His lips moved but nothing came out. No words. No sounds. This whole scene was one big joke and he’d missed the punch line. Hell, he was the tail-end of it all. Her teeth matched the white doors behind her.

            “You see; Mr. Glass was the original job. A past employee was a bit miffed that his former employer had screwed his pooch. So, a couple flour sacks of Franklins and a few meet-ups later, and the deal was arranged. But you-” She bent down until she was nearly eye level with him. He didn’t know whether to look at that matte black suppressor or her pitch black stare. “You were the grand prize.”

            Cas took a shaky breath. He tried to sit up but his head had other ideas. He fell back onto his elbows. “Why me?”

            “You killed my husband.” She spat the venom at him. A snake confronting its prey. “I had a good life ‘fore you came along. You took him from me. It’s time to settle the score.”

            “Your husband?” Cas had only killed a few men in his time on the force. A deranged snow bunny during a deal gone bad. An escapee from the big house that had been using some poor broad as a human shield. Then, of course, there was the icing on the cake…

            Cas might has well have been shot in the chest. “Summers.” He whispered. He’d been sleeping with the devil’s dame this whole time. He thought he’d been getting dizzy from her sweet lips when all he was getting was a buzz from the bullshit. She’d been playing him like a finely-tuned fiddle.

            Y/N rose from the floor and lifted up her skirt. A holster sat firm around her thigh with the pocket facing in. Maria was nice and snug where he had been only a day before. “Times are tough, Mr. Novak.” The skirt fell like rain during a hurricane. “The world’s a cruel place. If you’re caught slipping, there’s nowhere left to go but six feet under.”

            Smalls’ warning was like a broken record in his throbbing head. ‘You go in this alone, you’ll end up getting burned.’ He might have been able to walk out of there if he’d listened. Let Hartley take that second invite and bring up the rear. But he’d let that bridge burn hours ago. The Black Widow had spun a web and he’d flown right into it. He was nothing but dinner. “Do you know it’s unlucky to be so good lookin’ and not have anyone to kiss at midnight?”

“I’ve never been superstitious.” She checked the clip and pulled the safety.

“So, this isn’t the part where I slip the glass slipper on and a carriage whisks us away?”

            “Not quite.” He looked deep into the middle of that suppressor when she pointed it between his eyes. “This ain’t a fairytale and I’m no Cinderella. This story only has one ending.” Somewhere behind him, a grandfather clock chimed midnight. He’d always known that smirk of hers could kill. Just not like this.

            There were a few known facts about the Black Widow case. Worked for a price. Only moved at night.

            And there were twelve bloody bodies on her hands.

             


End file.
